Last week, over 7 days, I worked 66.5 hours. That’s 66.5 hours either in front of a computer, or in a meeting. And that doesn’t include the thinking about work that went on for probably something like another 10 hours over the week.
Needless to say this isn’t something I enjoy, or wish to repeat. It is exactly why I avoid jobs that require me to work those kind of hours. Though that also has a lot to do with the whole not-getting-paid for it part!
But no, this isn’t a bitch session about my day job.
What struck me as I finished the week so exhausted I couldn’t type my own name straight, was that when I’m writing and on a roll, the time I spend doing that on top of my normal day job hours, probably add to more than 66.5 over 5 days. Yet it never feels as horrible as last week did.
Even physically my aches and pains from that much time at the computer aren’t as bad as they were by Sunday afternoon.
Obviously, when I’m writing I’m not split mentally between 20 projects and obviously if I screw up no-one yells at me. Therein lies the bulk of the difference, but what really struck me was that even when the writing stuff is hard, there is still more immediate satisfaction in it. It feels worthwhile. It feels good.
It’s been interesting to reflect on this, because it underlines why writing is so important to me… the deep passion I have for creating story.
Like when you hear a champion swimmer say the first time they went in the water as a tiny child, they just knew that was where they wanted to be. That was me with story, and it’s nice to know that while writing has a different place in my life than it did back then, the passion for it is the same.
